I find my boyfriend too controlling. It’s like we are having a power struggle. He wants what he wants when he wants. And I usually like that but lately, it’s been less sexy and more of annoying. I don’t know how to assert myself without pissing him off. What shall I do?
—Controlled and Checked
Dear Controlled and Checked,
Power is not just a show on tv. It’s a show of strength and vulnerability simultaneously. There is nowhere that is measured best than in the bedroom. Do to cooling issues, we temporarily moved our bedroom into the living room. We pulled two couches together to create a super-sectional. And just like that after watching The Real Housewives, we tossed, and tussled, swapped spit and semen at an alarming rate.
It was exhilarating and exhausting.
The orgasmic score was three to one, and he was winning. He wanted me to top him, I was in no mood. I like to submit myself under the sheets. He loathes routine. And after copious cups of vodka cocktails, he puts those plans into action.
And like a traditional bottom after a few glasses of wine, I like it missionary on weeknights or bent over an armchair or the weekend. That’s how I like it when I fall in line. But life isn’t an assembly line. And certainly isn’t always routine. He burns my neck with his tongue while pinching my nipples. He savors my love with such intimacy. And when I lift my legs like to Golden Arches to my personal happy meal, I let him consume every concoction no matter the cost. And it’s the ultimate gift. It’s my essence. And I share this with only him because he’s the only one that’s worthy. Kiss me again, and again, make love to me until I squirt cum all over my stomach. And that’s exactly what I did.
On the bus ride to work the next morning, that’s all I can think about. How he licked me from head to toe, how he fucked me deep and slow. How I dipped it low like a basic hoe. Summer lovin’ like grease, and it doubles as a lubricant.
I guess I have a new attitude like Patti La Belle and it feels so right. You need passion, you have to believe in something. Those elements inspire and create the most exciting art. Deep, mysterious, yet sexy and dangerous. I know it sounds like a personal ad.
Well, it may be personal, it’s certainly no ad. I’m not trying to sell you anything, merely share my experience.
Don’t hold my vanity against me.
I awoke that morning like a streetwalker from the eighties because I walked through an alley sweating in a hot pink top and Chelsea ankle boots. But the entrance to our English basement is in the back of the house, no wonder the English were a depressed lot. But that dank basement is what I call home. And a much-needed upgrade over my mother’s sofa. Those sad days juxtapose with drunk nights, I never want to go back to those feelings: an unwanted, burden — a disappointing, a sad shell of the person I was supposed to be.
Wanting to make it, live someone else’s dream. To make it in America like I’m living in movie scenes. And it seems like I’ll never get to that place. It’s a perfect illusion. People spend their lives wanting things they don’t need. Falling for fucking fantasies like life is a fairy tale. We live and lie, and we earn to live with our regrets and secrets.
Born to boast, high expectations took some higher learner. It may be a hard knock like Annie and Jay Z. But we want to make it anyway. In order for some to win others will lose. And waiting for tomorrow doesn’t work when there isn’t one.
All I am is me, and I can be is simply the best like Tina Turner, sans the abusive husband. She’s post husband like she evolved beyond that limited role of marriage, of being controlled, and being abused. And maybe we will too. That would be the cherry on my cum sundae.
What if he made an honest man of me? But I’ve never been more honest when I’m writing.
Life is as mysterious as it is magical. We are often in situations we don’t want to be in. We sacrifice for the best things in life. We give and we take. And sometimes, we have to get on top when we’re sick and tired of being on the bottom. A real man will be okay with that.
But at the end of the day, no one really gets their way. When you’re tired of just getting fucked — leave.